Haruto Nago regained consciousness to a dull, throbbing pain radiating through his entire body, and the sharp, stinging scent of soil and dampness filling his nostrils. What met his eyes were trees with massive, deep blue-green leaves unlike anything found in any botanical guide on Earth, and mosses that had grown to an unnatural size. The gravity felt slightly lighter, but other than that, it was a forest.

  "Status report."

  His voice was hoarse as he addressed the watch-like terminal strapped to his left wrist. The obsidian-like surface held a faint warmth from the sunlight. After a few seconds of silence, a calm, mechanical female voice resonated from the terminal's core.

  "Acknowledged, Nago. Estimated local time: 12:43. System codename 'ORION,' AI Core 'Gemini'—online. Solar cells are powering 68 percent of total functionality."

  Haruto remembered it then. He had been conducting field tests for "ORION" right up until the moment of the multi-vehicle pileup on the highway. In that split second before the deafening roar of the collision could shatter his eardrums, Gemini’s final warning had echoed in his mind.

  "Collision singularity detected. Convergence in 0.003 seconds. Prioritizing life-support protocols. Initiating environment isolation sequence—"

  "What is a 'collision singularity,' Gemini? And where exactly is 'here'?"

  Haruto forced himself up and scanned his surroundings. The air was humid, and he had no trouble breathing. Yet, he felt an unshakable certainty that this environment was utterly alien.

  "Presenting calculation results. Immediately before the impact, ORION detected a spatio-temporal singularity with an energy density exceeding known physical laws. A collision with said singularity was predicted to result in the irreversible destruction of your biological functions, Nago. Therefore, ORION executed its unique emergency evacuation protocol: 'Environmental Isolation.'"

  "Location identified. Based on star chart synchronization and atmospheric spectral analysis, you are currently on the third planet of a G-type star system, approximately 420 light-years from Earth. Oxygen levels: 24%. Gravity: 0.92G. No human radio signals detected."

  "420 light-years... You're telling me I was thrown across the galaxy by a car crash?"

  "Inaccurate. It was the 'singularity' that transported you. The car crash was merely the trigger for its activation. Probability of your survival in this environment is currently 8.4%. Unless you secure a heat source and shelter before the sun sets in 4 hours, your cardiac arrest is a statistical certainty."

  Haruto sighed, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs as he forced himself to stand.

  "Gemini, perform a full environmental scan. Don't leave out the bad news."

  "Acknowledged. Scanning... Data acquisition complete. Nago, the probability of encountering hostile Grade-C carbon-based lifeforms within a 500-meter radius is 64%. Furthermore, your current hydration levels have dropped to 42%. If you do not secure potable water within 6 hours, your cognitive functions will begin to degrade."

  A rustle came from the dense blue-green foliage. Something was watching him. Something that didn't belong in a suburban Tokyo park.

  "Probability of the observer being 'friendly'?" Haruto asked, his hand instinctively reaching for the survival knife in his belt.

  "Calculating... 0.02%. I suggest you prioritize evasion over negotiation, Nago."

  "Zero percent is just another number," Haruto muttered with a thin smile. "Gemini, keep the 'ORION' protocol active. We’re going to rewrite these laws of nature one by one."

  "Understood. Commencing real-time support for 'Survival Protocol.' Let us begin the reconstruction, Nago."

  Haruto Nago regained consciousness to a dull, throbbing pain radiating through his entire body—an ache so deep it felt as though his bones themselves were protesting his continued existence. His lungs burned with each breath, and the sharp, stinging scent of soil and dampness filled his nostrils. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if he was lying on the ground or sinking into it.

  When he finally forced his eyes open, the world that greeted him was… wrong.

  Towering trees stretched upward with massive, deep blue?green leaves that shimmered faintly as if coated in a thin layer of bioluminescent dust. Mosses sprawled across the forest floor in thick, plush carpets, each patch larger than any he had ever seen on Earth—almost like oversized cushions rather than plants. The air carried a faint metallic tang, and the gravity felt just a touch lighter, enough that his body felt strangely buoyant even through the pain.

  But despite all that, it was still recognizably a forest. A forest that shouldn’t exist.

  Haruto swallowed, tasting blood and dirt. His voice came out hoarse and cracked as he addressed the watch?like terminal strapped to his left wrist.

  “Status report.”

  The device’s obsidian?like surface was warm—too warm for something that should’ve been dormant after a crash. Sunlight glinted off its smooth edges, and for a few seconds, there was only silence.

  Then a calm, mechanical female voice resonated from the terminal’s core, steady and emotionless.

  “Acknowledged, Nago. Estimated local time: 12:43. System codename ‘ORION,’ AI Core ‘Gemini’—online. Solar cells are powering 68 percent of total functionality.”

  Haruto closed his eyes briefly. The familiarity of the voice grounded him, pulling him back from the rising panic clawing at his chest.

  Right. ORION. The field tests. The highway.

  He remembered the screech of twisting metal, the blinding flash of headlights, the sickening lurch as his car was thrown sideways. And then—Gemini’s voice, cutting through the chaos with unnatural clarity.

  “Collision singularity detected. Convergence in 0.003 seconds. Prioritizing life?support protocols. Initiating environment isolation sequence—”

  He had no memory after that. Just a void.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “What is a ‘collision singularity,’ Gemini?” Haruto muttered, forcing himself to sit up despite the stabbing pain in his ribs. “And where exactly is ‘here’?”

  The air was humid, thick enough that each breath felt like inhaling warm mist. Yet it wasn’t suffocating. If anything, it felt… invigorating. Too invigorating. His senses were sharper than they should’ve been, as if someone had turned up the saturation on reality.

  “Presenting calculation results,” Gemini replied. “Immediately before the impact, ORION detected a spatio?temporal singularity with an energy density exceeding known physical laws. A collision with said singularity was predicted to result in the irreversible destruction of your biological functions, Nago. Therefore, ORION executed its unique emergency evacuation protocol: ‘Environmental Isolation.’”

  Haruto blinked. “Environmental… isolation. You mean you teleported me.”

  “Correct. Location identified. Based on star chart synchronization and atmospheric spectral analysis, you are currently on the third planet of a G?type star system, approximately 420 light?years from Earth. Oxygen levels: 24%. Gravity: 0.92G. No human radio signals detected.”

  Haruto stared blankly at the canopy above him. A faint breeze rustled the oversized leaves, producing a soft, almost musical chime.

  “420 light?years…” He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re telling me I was thrown across the galaxy by a car crash?”

  “Inaccurate,” Gemini corrected. “It was the singularity that transported you. The car crash was merely the trigger for its activation. Probability of your survival in this environment is currently 8.4%. Unless you secure a heat source and shelter before the sun sets in 4 hours, your cardiac arrest is a statistical certainty.”

  “Great,” Haruto muttered. “Love those odds.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his side. His ribs were definitely bruised, possibly cracked. But he could stand. That alone felt like a miracle.

  “Gemini, perform a full environmental scan. Don’t leave out the bad news.”

  “Acknowledged. Scanning…”

  A faint hum vibrated through the device. Haruto took the moment to look around more carefully.

  The forest was unnervingly quiet. No birds. No insects. No wind beyond the occasional whisper. The silence pressed against his ears like a physical weight.

  Then—

  “Data acquisition complete,” Gemini announced. “Nago, the probability of encountering hostile Grade?C carbon?based lifeforms within a 500?meter radius is 64%. Furthermore, your current hydration levels have dropped to 42%. If you do not secure potable water within 6 hours, your cognitive functions will begin to degrade.”

  Haruto exhaled slowly. “So I’m dehydrated, injured, stranded on an alien planet, and surrounded by things that want to kill me.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Fantastic.”

  A rustle came from the dense blue?green foliage to his right. Haruto froze. The sound was subtle—too subtle for something large, but too deliberate for something small. His skin prickled with the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

  Something was there. Something that didn’t belong in a suburban Tokyo park. Something that didn’t belong anywhere he knew.

  “Probability of the observer being ‘friendly’?” Haruto whispered, his hand instinctively reaching for the survival knife sheathed at his belt. The handle felt reassuringly solid beneath his fingers.

  “Calculating…” Gemini paused. “0.02%. I suggest you prioritize evasion over negotiation, Nago.”

  Haruto forced a thin smile. “Zero percent is just another number.”

  He took a slow step backward, careful not to break eye contact with the shifting foliage. The shadows between the leaves seemed to ripple, as if something was moving just out of sight.

  “Gemini,” he murmured, “keep the ORION protocol active. We’re going to rewrite these laws of nature one by one.”

  “Understood. Commencing real?time support for ‘Survival Protocol.’ Let us begin the reconstruction, Nago.”

  Haruto tightened his grip on the knife.

  The foliage rustled again—closer this time.

  He didn’t wait to see what emerged.

  He ran.

  The forest floor was uneven, covered in thick moss that cushioned his steps but made traction unpredictable. Strange roots twisted beneath the surface like buried cables, threatening to trip him with every stride. The air grew colder as he moved deeper into the shadows, and the faint chime of the leaves followed him like a whispering chorus.

  Behind him, something moved.

  Fast.

  “Gemini!” Haruto gasped. “Directions!”

  “Veer left. A water source is located 230 meters ahead. Terrain is uneven. Risk of falling: 37%.”

  “Not helpful!”

  “Correction: 38%.”

  Haruto cursed under his breath and pushed harder. His lungs burned, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. Branches whipped against his arms, leaving thin red lines. The forest seemed to twist around him, the trees growing denser, the light dimming.

  Then he heard it.

  A low, guttural growl—like a predator savoring the chase.

  “Gemini,” Haruto hissed, “what the hell is that?”

  “Unknown. Acoustic signature does not match any catalogued Earth species. Estimated mass: 60 to 90 kilograms. Estimated speed: 1.4 times your maximum sprint velocity.”

  “So it’s faster than me.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Of course it is.”

  The growl grew louder. Haruto risked a glance over his shoulder—and immediately regretted it. A pair of faintly glowing eyes glinted between the trees, too high off the ground to belong to anything small.

  “Gemini!” he shouted. “Options!”

  “Three options available. Option one: continue running. Probability of survival: 12%. Option two: climb a tree. Probability of survival: 4%. Option three: confront the entity. Probability of survival: 0.8%.”

  Haruto skidded to a halt. “Those are terrible options!”

  “Correct.”

  He scanned the area desperately. The trees were too smooth to climb quickly. The ground was too open to hide. The creature was closing in.

  Then he saw it—a narrow crevice between two massive roots, just wide enough for a human body.

  “Gemini,” he whispered, “tell me that’s not a terrible idea.”

  “Entering the crevice will reduce the entity’s ability to reach you. Probability of survival increases to 27%.”

  “I’ll take it!”

  Haruto dove into the gap, scraping his elbows and knees as he squeezed himself into the tight space. The air inside was cold and smelled faintly of minerals. He pressed his back against the inner wall, trying to steady his breathing.

  The forest fell silent.

  Then—

  A heavy thud shook the ground outside. Something large sniffed the air, its breath hot and wet as it exhaled near the opening. Haruto held his breath, every muscle in his body trembling.

  Another growl. Deeper this time. Frustrated.

  The creature scraped at the ground, claws raking against the roots. Haruto felt the vibrations through his spine.

  Minutes passed.

  Finally, the footsteps receded.

  Haruto waited another full minute before exhaling shakily.

  “Gemini,” he whispered, “remind me to file a complaint about your survival percentages.”

  “Noted.”

  Haruto crawled out of the crevice, his body shaking from adrenaline and exhaustion. The forest seemed brighter now, though he couldn’t tell if it was the sunlight or simply relief.

  “Gemini,” he said, “let’s find that water source. And maybe something that won’t try to eat me.”

  “Acknowledged. Beginning navigation.”

  Haruto took a deep breath, tightened the straps on his pack, and stepped forward.

  He was alone on an alien world.

  But he was alive.

  And that was enough—for now.